Fragments of the missing piece
by mithril heart
Summary: A girl who's lost her memory crosses paths with Legolas Greenleaf and he happens to be the key to her past. All couples live happily ever after. Don't they?


Author's notes: Hey! =) This Is my first chapter to my first fanfic! I am very aware that my OC is very very very Mary sue in this chap. I know it seems this way at first but I promise, she isn't one. You'll see that she isn't as we go along alright? Review okay? It's my first fanfic. I know it isn't very good so give me time; I'll try to do better. I'll improve ;) Disclaimer: Nothing that Tolkien created belongs to me! Fragments of the missing piece  
  
Chapter 1 : Missing pieces  
  
The sound of metal clashing against metal and loud cries of war, agony and anger resounded throughout the stone walls of Helm's Deep and the battlefield. Arrows whizzed past his delicate, pointed ears as he sent his own flying into the masses of black bodies below.  
  
Deciding to save them for later, he whipped out his swords, letting the ring fill his ears. He gripped them firmly and swung them, beheading an Orc that was charging head on towards him. Fresh black blood splattered across his face, adding a sharp contrast to his fair, smooth skin. He paid no heed to it and swiftly evaded another Orc's attempt to impale him with its scimitar. He sliced open its torso and its innards spilled out and it howled in pain. The elf's eyes were cold blue as his friend's words rung over and over in his mind, "A Eruchin, U-dano i faelas a hyn an uben, tanatha lle faelas!" [ "Show them no mercy, for you will receive none!" ]  
  
While he busied himself by slaying another three Orcs that surrounded him, his senses screamed at him that a fourth one was approaching from behind. He knew it was too late to turn around and deflect the blow or to whip around to counter the attack. He braced himself as he turned around, trying to avoid the inevitable.  
  
  
  
But it never came.  
  
Instead he saw a flash of silver and light blue as a headless corpse of an Orc slumped to the ground.  
  
She had turned around before he could even catch a glimpse of her face. Her long golden-brown hair flew behind her as she fluidly danced around the gruesome beasts, delivering death blows as if it was effortless on her part.  
  
He was confused. He had not seen a female anywhere in the force. Where and how had she come down here?  
  
"Your highness, need I remind you that you are in a war? I suggest you start moving or will I be forced to sweep you off your feet and hide you in safety?" The voice that jolted him out of his racing thoughts confirmed that the anonymous soldier was a lady. It was melodious despite the cynicism in its content and the chaotic events swirling around. He ducked by instinct as a blade whistled over the top of his head, barely missing his hair. He swung his sword out and flipped it out of its wielder's grasp before sinking his blade through its armour and into its chest and yanking it out again.  
  
"I doubt you'd manage my lady." He shouted above the racket while taking down yet another of the enemy. After a few minutes, he finished off an exchange with a particularly tricky Orc and managed to yell out to her once more, "Diola lle, my fellow warrior!" [Thank you ]  
  
"Glad to be of service my Lord!" He heard her shout from behind him. He spun on his feet to see what his life saver looked like but she was already gone, disappearing into the crush of bodies.  
  
  
  
The prince of Mirkwood's eyes fluttered open, revealing soft blue orbs. They darted around the unfamiliar room, his mind racing, trying to recall where he was. He tried to sit up but as he placed his hand on the side of the bed, attempting to push himself up, this everyday task was near impossible as every inch of his muscle and flesh screamed in protest. With a gasp, he fell back and hit the soft mattress. Then he remembered the blood and gore. The events of the war rushed through his mind. Everything was black and red, blood everywhere. Arrows slicing through the thick air, howls and screams of agony haunted him. For a long time, colours just filled his memories, a charred shade of raven black, crimson red, metallic silver and even blue and gold.  
  
Mentally he linked everything up as the horrifying memories of war hit him hard. Where had he seen blue and gold in all that dullness of battle? He looked down at his chest and abdomen; they were lined with freshly sewn gashes. They were an unpleasing sight to behold at such early hours of the morning. They would heal soon, he mused, as he absently fingered the wounds. They were rough and bumpy under his calloused fingers. He looked up and took in the surroundings of the room. The stone walls reminded him he was in Helm's Deep. The room was not well furnished. There was a table with a stump of a used candle and a stool. To his left, there was a washing basin that had a towel, bandages and a bar of soap. To his right was a small drawer and the door. Everything was made of wood and the room was cold and bare. The balcony curtain was drawn half way and wind blew into the small room. The light streaming through it made getting up and catching a breath of fresh air hard to resist. But his wounds were still aching and throbbing from the sudden strain put on them. He let out a breath and closed his eyes but quickly snapped them open again. He could not let such thoughts of battle engulf him in more sorrow and grief for it would make his confinement in this cursed room more unbearable.  
  
But his willed patience was short lived. He managed to prop himself up, ignoring as best as he could, the intense pain of stretching the deep gashes on his front. Groaning aloud, he finally lifted himself out of bed. He made it to the washing basin and splashed the cool water onto his tired face. After drying off, he stood as straight as possible, wrapping the clean bandages across his torso and chest. It was indeed fortunate he had been given such a small room as he continued to drag himself across the room to retrieve a dark green shirt from the little drawer in the corner. Though his body still shivered from the strain, he felt a slight happiness to be clean and up on his own feet again. After exiting the room, he leaned against the cold wall and stabilized himself and slowly inched his way down the empty corridor.  
  
When he eventually reached Aragon's room, he was breathing heavily and starting to question the intelligence of moving so much so soon after battle. Having finally caught his breath, he knocked lightly on the wooden door. He paused and waited patiently but there was no response. He lifted his hand to try again but before he could, he heard a faint muffled voice coming from inside. He gently pushed open the door and peeked inside. There he found his wild haired brother sprawled on his bed. He had a slight grin on his face when he recognized who it was at the door. Legolas shuffled into the room that was similar to his and lifted his hand in greeting, "Quel amrun, nin muindor." [Good morning, my brother.] His voice came out raspy and hoarse from testing it for the first time since he had awoken.  
  
"Morning, Legolas? It is late afternoon already!" Aragorn laughed, after which he winced slightly, having aggravated his wounds. "I've heard that you have been asleep for two days already. And yet you move around? You should know better than to limp around by yourself. You might tear your stitches." The ranger shifted and sat up and gave his friend a smile. It certainly was refreshing to see his face after lying around on his bed, staring at nothing, thinking of nothing other than the war.  
  
Legolas arched a slender eyebrow in mild surprise. It had happened many times before, he had slept for days after being wounded in battle. "Tis too late for that, I realized my folly when I reached your door." He limped further into the room and sat on a stool at the side of his bed. They sat in silence, appreciating each other's presence. Each thanking the Valar for watching over his comrade. Legolas finally broke the silence," You know I really came close to dying out there."  
  
Aragorn turned his head slowly to look at him, "Who didn't Legolas? That's what happens in a war."  
  
"Nay, muindor. [Brother] I could feel it coming like I've never felt it before. I was under the blade and I hadn't sensed it in time. After all this time, after all these battles we've been through, I've never been so thankful to be alive."  
  
Aragorn reached out and pat him on the arm, "Nor have I mellonamin. Nor have I." [My friend] Together they sunk into their musings once again but it was Aragorn who continued. "How did you escape it?"  
  
"Escape what?"  
  
"The blade..."  
  
The blond hair elf hesitated, trying to recall his experience of his brush with death. "I... I think it was a girl. She saved me at the very last minute. Any later I would've died. Yet it still puzzles me how she could've gotten there. Seeing that there were no females present when we prepared for battle." His forehead creased as he thought.  
Legolas' visit was soon over as Lady Eoywn, who was busy tending to the injured came in and managed to shoo the elf back to his room. She then closed the door and began to redress Aragorn's wounds.  
  
The blonde shuffled his way back slowly when he heard a cry of frustration. He quickened his pace and made a slight detour, it sounded as if the person was in pain. There, leaning against the stone wall was a lady, her long golden hair covering her face. Her hands clutched tightly around her stomach. Legolas made his was as quickly as he could and bent over.  
"My lady, are you alright?" He asked, placing a knee to the floor. The woman looked up, her clear baby blue eyes were shrouded in pain. He took note that she was of elven kin as her ears were pointed. She shook her head and drew away from him.  
  
"Just fine my lord." She lifted herself up though with much effort and a little help from Legolas. "Just some deep wounds that those cursed Orcs managed to deliver. I suppose I am not as good a swordsman as I thought myself to be." She gave a wry smile and then bowed as much as her torn torso would allow, "Good day my Lord, Prince of Mirkwood. I thank you for your concern but I am well, I will take my leave now." She turned to leave but he stopped her with a gentle grip on her shoulder.  
"Orcs my lady? So were you the one."  
"Yes, I was the she-elf you met." She averted her eyes and continued to walk.  
"Then it is I who must thank. I am indebted."  
"No, you are not my lord." She looked back at him . " 'Tis my duty. You are prince and it is my service. You owe me nothing."  
"I insist, my lady. Please, come. At least humour me, join me for dinner?" He offered his arm and pleading look. She intrigued him and he wanted to know more. Or at least to thank her.  
Relenting, she slipped her arm cautiously to interlock with Legolas'. "Pray tell, what would an elven lady such as you be doing in the middle of a battle?"  
"I happened to be in Rohan before the war and after we fled here, I could see that we were short of men to fight the battle." She said, making sure she would not let out too much information about herself. So he was the prince, there was word going about that he was not to be trusted and for some reason, she did not like him although she could not find a reason as to why.  
They walked in silence until they reached the kitchen where the Rohirrim women were bustling about, preparing meals for the soldiers and their families. Legolas managed to seek out Eowyn and despite her insistence that he return to bed, he persuaded her to let Isilmë and him prepare their own meals.  
There was an abundance of tomatoes and potatoes in the kitchen and she they set about slicing them. Legolas pierced quite violently into a red, juicy tomato and juice squirt all over his face and managed to coax a smile and a few laughs from the half-elf. Legolas decided that it was worth the embarrassment when the women around them stopped their activities to peer at them.  
She lightened up quite a bit after that. It was the most carefree moments that he had experienced for the longest time. They ended up with hot stew in their hands and settled down on a few broken steps. By the end of the meal, he had gotten her to open up a bit more and learned a few more facts. Her name was Ellethwen. She was half-elven and stayed in Rivendell. Her friend that she visited was a Rohan. The matter he was most curious about was her swordsmanship. He was told that she was taught by her father before he died. She seemed to close up after that and hurriedly took her leave.   
Soon enough, Ellethwen no longer stayed in Legolas' thoughts. His mind was filled with the days' events. On this day, they were to return to Rohan and the people would be able to live again in their city. His thoughts were constantly plagued by thoughts of Frodo and Sam. They had received no word from them, and neither had Mithrandir.  
Gimli sat on a horse and rode by him as they made their way back to Rohan and his silly antics cheered everyone up. Occasionally, the dwarf would pick a fight with Legolas and they would end up arguing until Aragorn was forced to separate them, putting Eowyn and himself between them.   
  
She stood proud and tall, her blue eyes surveying the mass of black beings below them. She could feel the naked fear that the humans exuded. The elves were not so easily read, but if she looked deep into their eyes, the same fear resided there. Her grip on her bow tightened as her elf ears strained to hear the awaited commands. For what seemed as the longest time, the Orcs stood, pounding their spears on the ground and shouting. It made everything shake. But when an arrow found its' way into an Orc, the silence that hung in the air for a moment was much more deafening.  
  
There it was, the command to fire. Her fingers released the strained bow and her arrow flew, whistling in the air along with thousands of others.  
  
And then the chaos began.  
  
  
  
Her breath quickened as the Orcs reached the top of the ladders. She let her sword take its own course. She willed herself to calm down and slowed her breath. She took down the Orcs that were climbing up the ladder, systematically taking them one at a time and then kicked the ladder off the fort.  
They were everywhere now. There were too many of them. She had to take on three at a time. She ducked as two swords swung over her in synchronized movement. She thrust her sword into the nearest Orc as she ducked. After redrawing it, she swung, hard and fast, leaving a large gaping wound in another Orc.  
She stood aright and spun around to the third Orc but was stopped mid- way. Something foreign ripped her skin and flesh apart and was driven deep in. She found it excruciating to turn any further. It twisted inside her and a cry of agony caught in her throat as she felt her insides tear. A rusty piece of metal protruded from her side, crimson liquid flowing, seeping into her clothes. Breathing became a chore and a vital necessity all at once, but oddly, she could not find the space for the oxygen. She found no voice to let out as the weapon was withdrawn by a smiling Uruk- Hai. She did nothing to stop that same piece of iron as she watched it swing right into her face.  
  
  
  
Her whole body snapped upright, and found herself drenched in sweat, gasping for breath. She quickly surveyed her surroundings finding herself still wrapped in a soft blanket. Still flustered, she scrambled rather ungracefully out of the tight cocoon, and out of bed. She drew her long, wavy hair into a loose bundle and slipped out of the small house, careful not to awaken her friend.  
  
The she-elf padded lightly down the road as the moon rose high above the city of Rohan. It was once again filled with people, and held much more cheer than before the battle at Helm's Deep.  
She sat on the lowest step of the flight of steps leading to the Golden Halls and closed her eyes, letting the cool breeze brush past her face, blowing her golden strands of hair astray. Just as her thoughts settled on the departure of the Rohan warriors, a clear voice came from behind her. She had not heard the footsteps of the elf descending the stairs.  
"My lady Ellethwen, we meet again." Legolas stepped around her, inclining his head in a polite greeting. "I had not known that you reside here in Rohan as well."  
"Nay my lord, I do not. Do you recall Hareth? I came here merely to watch over him. At least till now. He has been recovering quite well and has regained his needed strength." She spoke in a small voice, subconsciously not wanting to break the peace the night had brought. He smiled, expressing his joy that Hareth was well. "Why do you leave the comfort of the royal halls at this hour of the night?" Ellethwen asked.  
  
"I was about to inquire the same of you. It is hardly the time for a fair lady such as you to be out. Not mentioning how exceptionally chilly it is this night." The elf stared up at the glittering sky. "I am here because sleep avoids me. And as you know, we are to depart in the morrow. I cannot help but think about it." He settled himself slowly onto the steps.  
"Neither can I. For it plagues my thoughts as well."  
Legolas glanced over in concern. Though he had seen her at her deadliest, he felt it very uncommon and strange for a female to ride out to war. Not because they were incapable of wielding swords but because he had always thought women to be such fragile things. He did not look down upon them for that reason, but felt the need to protect them all the more. Especially since he had a sister of his own.  
"Certainly you do not intend to ride to war with us." He began in a cautious tone, only to be cut off.  
"And why, may I inquire? Because I am female?" She faced him now, her voice sterner than before. He was not sure, but he thought he had caught a menacing edge to her voice. Her eyes had reflected that, if only but for a moment. They seemed to display her emotions very openly. A common trait amongst humans.  
"I do not mean to offend my lady," Legolas averted his eyes, suddenly feeling guilty for no good reason. "I merely worry for your safety. Not that you are inadequate in battle but. I suppose I rarely meet ladies such as you."  
She turned away slowly with no reply but she answered eventually. "I suppose you do not." Ellethwen whispered, with what Legolas thought was bitterness. She tilted her head upwards, gazing upon the silver lights that lit the sky, winking ever so often. "But even though you might accept my presence in battle, I do not think some others will."  
"You need not fear, I will say nothing."  
"Thank you." A small smile graced her lips in gratitude.  
  
  
  
"Regardless of what you say, Hareth, I am not staying. You know very well that I am capable of taking care of myself." The female spoke quickly as she slipped on her friend's helmet, hiding her distinctively female features. Hareth opened his mouth to protest but she threw him a silencing glare. She had her right hand on her hip, her usual stance while being defiant. Her left removed the helmet that was just put on. The glare slowly softened as she strode over to where her injured friend stood, taking him into an embrace.  
"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. You've never worried before, why start now?"  
"Because this is different. and well, I'm not going to be there. But I suppose there's no stopping you." He squeezed her and then let her go.  
"You're right, there isn't." The female smirked as she began to walk out of the house but stopped at the doorway and looked back. "Take care alright. I want you alive."  
"I think that applies to you more. Now get going before I change my mind."  
"Ooh, I am so scared!" He heard her say, but all he could see was a stream of light shining into the dark hut as the door stood ajar. He knew she had other motives for going to battle and the need to stop her rose in him again but the sound of hooves hitting the earth rid all chances of trying.  
  
  
  
Her mind wandered as her horse plodded along with its kind. Her eyes wandered over to the prince, sitting straight as always on his beautiful stallion. Even when going to war, he was so princely and majestic. She plied her gaze from his lean build and looked around her. She was alone in the crowd. She had left Hareth behind because of his injury. Since the day he sustained the severe injury during the battle at Helm's Deep, he could hardly stand, much less walk. Now at least he could hobble around by himself and was independent enough.  
She couldn't remember when she had met Hareth, only that she had been his childhood friend. She couldn't remember a lot of things about her life, her past. A lifetime of memories had been erased when she was hit on the head. Hareth had repeated to her many times about what happened and who she was but she could never remember any of it. Her oldest memories were only three years old. Still her friends took care of her, stayed by her side while she recuperated. Her parents had died, Hareth told her. Her father was killed just before she was hit. Her mother had died just a year before.  
  
She had often thought about her past, trying so hard to remember scraps of it. Sometimes there were little fragments of her memory that would flash before her in her mind's eye. But she could never be sure if they were her imagination, or real memories. Behind them, Hareth stood, panting heavily and watched the troops ride away into the horizon disappearing in the bright light that streamed down from the sky.  
  
  
  
Author's notes: So.? What do you guys think? I know Ellethwen is a very. common name of sorts, but I was desperate. I started planning this story last year and I only managed to get a passable name at the end of this chapter! Review okay? =) it means lots to me!  
  
cherie* 


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